The Return of the Attack of the Deranged Mutant
by Jhomeboy
Summary: ...Killer Monster Snow Goons." Book:II on hiatus. Time for a REAL C&H fic, and this time: set as a horror slasher film! That's right. Calvin and the gang are teenagers. And that's right, they resurect a snowman, and of course, stupid teenage choices are m
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! HAHAHAHAHA!

Merry Christmas all and maybe by February I might have a sequel, "The Revenge of the Return of the Attack of the Deranged Mutant Killer Monster Snow Goons." Sorry if they seem out of character. I try to put more of a "stupid teen" label on them than "grown-up C&H characters." You'll understand. 

* ** *

Me? My story? Who are all these people behind me? Well, first, my name is Calvin. Now that we got the important stuff out of the way, these people. This beautiful young lady on the right of me is a one Susie Derkins, which you may know, so I won't fret over her…right now. Over there, by the fire, just staring, that's Moe. I don't know why he's here…he just showed up and I suspect only because he wants to smear me across the wall when I go to sleep. Over there, preparing the nutrition for the night (Super Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, the latest formula. With marshmallows!) is Tommy Chestnut, the only human to survive the digestive tract of a tiger. And of course, the supplier of the cereal for tonight, Jerad! 

Now, our story. My parents are out of town for the weekend, and I decided tonight would be the perfect night for a party, just us small select group and you. We are ready to sit around by the fire, talk about life (or ending it, in Moe's case) and soon, we are about to go outside and build a snowman. And then-

* ** *

"Calvin, God, shut up! When I said, 'What are you and all these other people doing here?' I didn't expect an answer! Susie just said 'a girl's night out!'" Calvin smirked and Candice, who was shivering, waiting to be let out of the snowstorm. "Rar. I'm afraid my girlfriend decided some others should come. Calling Jerad, I did, and then in turn he called Tommy, and, like I said, Moe just turned up…"

"Just let me in!" shouted Candice, pushing Calvin aside. 

"Alright, guys, Candice is here!" shouted Calvin. Tommy and Jerad merely looked up, then back to the seven boxes of Super Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs (with marshmallows.) 

"Great! Now the part can _really_ get started!" crowed Tommy with a cool air of sarcasm. Everybody but Candice and Susie laughed (Moe's just a _slight_ too menacing for Calvin's taste.)

Outside, the snow-stained winds shrieked shutters. 


	2. NotQuiteDrunk Teens Making Stupid Choice...

Disclaimer: Ho! Ho! Ho! For you, Bill Watterson, I will recognize the fact that you indeed own Calvin and Hobbes and no more liberties will be taken against your wonderful comic. 

Well, maybe a couple liberties…

* ** *

"Ooowww…thish really hurtsh." mumbled Calvin, rubbing his head in pain. Tommy looked over with the same, harsh look on his face. "Maybe we shouldn't have had sho mush shereal…" he slurred.

Moe sat across the table, merely staring, amazed he had gotten this far. He had really expected he would be expelled from the party when he showed up, but nobody had had the guts to stand up to him. At night, just as everybody is refilling their bowls or using the restroom, he was going to cream him good. Teach him to try to stand up to him in gym class. Teach him something good…uh…

Susie and Candice were talking amongst each other, occasionally glancing at Calvin and Tommy, who had both eaten a little too much of the new cereal, and then taken a few aspiring (overbalanced, don't you think?) and had managed to end up a semi-drunken heap each.

"Thish really hurtsh." mumbled Calvin again. "We heard you!" shouted Tommy, which only sparked his roaring migraine. 

Across the room from the fire, Frosty danced across town to the train station on the TV. 

"That Froshty…what ish he trying to pull? A shnowman comesh alive and he decides he'sh going to waste it all on singing and being merry. I bet you a real shnowman would…live up hish life. You know, eat Froshted Shugar Bombs and stuff, maybe get shome friends, learn to drive, spend an hour a day at the shooting range." groaned Tommy.

Calvin shook his head slowly and blurredly. "No, a shnowman…he isn't nice. I've met a real shnowman before. He washn't really kind. He tried to kill me."

Across the way, Susie rolled her eyes sympathetically. Not the snow goon story again. She had been involved in this one, but it was a brief roll.

"He wash evil." Everybody (save Tommy, also tired in that drunk-yet-sober way, and Jerad, who had gone home with a migraine to beat a hangover) merely stared at Calvin, who started to wonder if Calvin realized what he was saying.

"A snowman can't kill you. Snowmen…they aren't alive, Calvin. Ok? Get that through your thick-" "But he wash!" Calvin interrupted quickly, spilling the bowl that lay in his lap onto the carpet. Candice closed her mouth.

"I brought him alive. He tried to kill me, and then he made more. I defeated him, though. Oh yesh, I did." he said, resting his head somberly at the end. Candice sneered. "Alright, Mr. Brings Frosty Alive, do it again, right now. We're going to go out and you're going to prove to us that you can bring snowmen alive. If suddenly Frosty springs up with an axe and tries to cut us down, I'll personally apologize. Otherwise, you have to be our slave-monkey for the rest of the night. Capice?"

Calvin nodded slowly, trying to ward off his migraine enough to see that this was all a big mistake. 

"Alright then, get your coats. We're making a snowman."


	3. I'd lose my head if it weren't screwed o...

Disclaimer: I own not of anything but the snow goon, but the idea, in turn, was Mr. Watterson's too…meh.

This chapter'll be better, I swear. I put two chapters in today as I won't be in for a week as I'll be visiting relatives and stuff.

* ** *

"Alright Calvin, go." 

Calvin stood, shivering, standing over a frozen snowman that looked, in this horizontal position, somewhat peaceful, like a sleeping child of the snow. He would have to do something quickly. The snow had worn away at his migraine, and his dazed somberness before had quickly passed.

"**C'mon, twinkie. We don't got all night!**" Came the below of Moe. Calvin was still surprised he hadn't left yet. What _was_ he doing there anyway? Well, every group, even a temporary four-hour one, has to have the strong-idiot type.

Calvin peered back down at the hastily made snowman, trying to think of what to do. Many years earlier, what had he done? Something wrong, obviously, as fifteen snow goons resulted in the mistake, but had it been a spell? An incantation? What?

In his mind, suddenly, was a flash of nostalgic memory of himself, standing over a snowman, whispering an incantation, and suddenly screaming as the snowman, after crying "Live! LIVE!_LIVE!_" finally did live, as he hurled across the yard, and the snowman was close behind him, homicide in his eyes. 

Little did he realize, as he closed his eyes and shivered, whether from the cold or from the past memories, that he muttered the lines under his breath.

"By the power invested in me by the mighty and awful snow demons, I command you to come to life. Live. _Live. LIVE!"_ he cried at the end, awaking himself from his sudden comatose stage, realizing that he was no longer crouching for warmth, but had unfurled his arms before the snowman, expecting lightning as perhaps the Heavens themselves might open upon his words and bring this Frosty to life.

Nothing.

"Oo, aah, help me Calvin, Frosty the Snow Goon is trying to hack me to bits." crooned Candice with a harsh sarcastic tone that, truthfully, was uncalled for. "Candice, shut up." nudged Susie.

Nothing still. 

"Alright, let's just go in, and you," Candice pointed to Calvin "remember our deal? When we get in, fetch me the phonebook and call Little Caeser's, your treat, got in slave-monkey?" She walked off, a sneer on her face. Calvin reached over to Susie and whispered "When did she get to be so cruel?"

* ** *

Once inside, the only sound besides the harsh screaming winds outside was the groaning of Tommy. "I'm going to go make some tea. My head really hurts." he stumbled off to the kitchen, his slurry speech having long disappeared.

"Slave-monkey, where's the phonebook?" snapped Candice. Calvin grumbled under his breath and went to go fetch the yellow-pages. 

* ** *

The shrill winds of the night skirted across the house and over the piling snow drifts in the street. The lights in the houses started to go off one by one, as Christmas trees are unplugged for the night and the outdoor lights are left on for decorative purposes. Those few lights (as well as the pregnant moon that shines like a silver dollar far overhead) shone off of the shining hide of the solitary snowman spread on the ground.

These same lights also bathed the snowman as it grunted and lifted it's branched arm.

* ** *

"Okay, thanks, see you in thirty minutes." said Calvin, hanging up the phone. Behind him, he could feel Candice grinning malevolently. "Well, Tim says the pizza will be here in thirty, and as he knows us from school, he'll take five dollars off." Candice's smile faltered temporarily.

"Alright, now that slave-monkey has gotten that done, he can rest for a little while. Remembering all those numbers to dial really rattled his brain." she mocked.

"I swear, Candice, if the snowman _had_ come alive, and this some how turned into a teen-slasher horror movie, I would see to it that you were the first to die. It would have to be after you said something like 'Boy, I wouldn't even be able to find my head if it weren't attached to my shoulders' and then the snowman would decapitate you." 

"But this isn't a horror movie, so shut up."

* ** *

Tommy started to rub his temples, trying to bring down his migraine from the cereal. The tea would help, but the water was warming slowly. "Oooh…" he groaned, not hearing the grind of ice outside on the porch, the silent click of the lock, the quiet turning of the knob, and never realizing that he wasn't alone.

* ** *

"But if it were a horror movie, I'm just contradicting your statement that I would not be one of the surviving lead characters. I _am_ the lead character here! Me, and maybe Susie, would survive, but the rest would die, certainly. The rugged guy figure, strong and brave, always survives. Tommy won't, cuz he's a wuss, Moe won't, because he's strong, but an idiot" (which earned him a disgruntled growl) "and you won't, Candice, because, well, the slutty one always lives briefly, does every surviving guy, and then is suddenly stabbed just when you think it's all clear."

"Whoa, slutty? Who are you calling slut?" shouted Candice. "And besides, you said earlier I would be the first, now I'm like third to last to die. Whose going to die first then?"

Calvin thought about it a moment longer, and got closer to the fire. "I'm not sure. But they'll go out with some stupid line. They always do."

* ** *

The water started to boil a little quicker. Tommy quickly crossed the kitchen to pick up the tea bag and placed next to the stove. 

Having done this, Tommy wasted no time in rubbing his temples once more, and suddenly, deep in his bowels, something gave a great bellow as the Super Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs hit the chili fries he had had earlier that day.

"Oooh…if my headache won't kill me, these stomach pains will." he started to groan, but was quickly silenced as a sharp pain stabbed through his gut.

* ** *

"Okay, fine, I'll admit that perhaps Moe _would_ hold off the beast temporarily, but who would save us indefinitely? You? I doubt that." 

Susie, who had finally had enough, quickly stood up. "I've had it! Shut up, you two! There is no snow monster, there will be no one to save us, because we aren't in danger, and don't worry, nobody's going to be the first to di-"

But Susie was quickly cut off by a piercing cry from the kitchen.

"Tommy!" was the unison cry. There was a shuffling footstep, and from the kitchen entered Tommy, a great amount of blood bubbling from his mouth. "Froshty…got me…" he mumbled, and fell down face-first, never minding the pain as his nose shattered. Dead people don't seem to mind pain.

Sticking out of his back was the blunt end of the killer's weapon, a nine-inch sharpened icicle.

(a/n: a little corny, I realize. Sorry about that. And, it may seem obvious, but I don't watch many horror movies.)


End file.
